(no subject)
She's determined. She's finally figured out if this is what it is going to take to make her feel the wind on her cheeks and the sun upon her shoulders for the first time again; this is what she wants. She will be able to love differently because she will be able to love entirely. With her whole heart instead of behind curtains of hesitation and shame. She will run, slow at first - one step at a time. And as the pace picks up, as does her head. She looks ahead - looking at what she has gotten herself into. With each new step, she sees the person she wants to become, and leaves a mere shadow of inconsistency and tears behind her. She cries. Not just any kind of tears drip down her soft cheeks. Tears of happiness, and tears of regret. Why had she not done this sooner? This is what she needed to do to become a happier person, the math is there. It's not hard, she thinks, her mental picture of the ultimate goal still fresh in her mind. The feeling of euphoria, the undescribable euphoria that surrounds a goal that she has never been able to achieve on her own before.
She falls. A slow stumble turns into a drastic tumble down towards the ground. She recognizes this, she's been here before. Her determination shattered and her dreams of happiness pushed aside for a subpar reality.
"I'm not good enough, I can't do this - I don't want this, I'm happy how I am."
Except this time, it's different. This time, she know's she isn't happy, and no lie will alter her permently formed opinion. With her newfound independence she realizes that the goals she sets for herself are none but her own; not persevering would mean not accepting the independence, and even moreso, not grabbing the moment that she tried so desperately to avoid - and turning the situation around so that for once - she can come out on top.
So she begins to run again. Slowly, one step at a time. And as the pace picks up, as does her head. She looks ahead - looking at what she has gotten herself into. With each new step, she sees the person she wants to become, and leaves a mere shadow of inconsistency and tears behind her.
Faster, faster she goes.
"I can do it" she screams.
At the top of her lungs, the sweat drips down her brow and her legs pick up speed.
"I can do it because for the first time, I want this for myself"
....And with that, she's overcomes the hardest part.
Believing in herself.
There's no boy.
There's no boy telling me "If I was pretty or more popular things could of worked out".
There's no one telling me that this is what's best for me.
Instead - I'm telling myself.
This is the difference.
This - this is for me.
It's my turn.
I'm finally running.
A dead sprint.
Towards happiness.
She falls. A slow stumble turns into a drastic tumble down towards the ground. She recognizes this, she's been here before. Her determination shattered and her dreams of happiness pushed aside for a subpar reality.
"I'm not good enough, I can't do this - I don't want this, I'm happy how I am."
Except this time, it's different. This time, she know's she isn't happy, and no lie will alter her permently formed opinion. With her newfound independence she realizes that the goals she sets for herself are none but her own; not persevering would mean not accepting the independence, and even moreso, not grabbing the moment that she tried so desperately to avoid - and turning the situation around so that for once - she can come out on top.
So she begins to run again. Slowly, one step at a time. And as the pace picks up, as does her head. She looks ahead - looking at what she has gotten herself into. With each new step, she sees the person she wants to become, and leaves a mere shadow of inconsistency and tears behind her.
Faster, faster she goes.
"I can do it" she screams.
At the top of her lungs, the sweat drips down her brow and her legs pick up speed.
"I can do it because for the first time, I want this for myself"
....And with that, she's overcomes the hardest part.
Believing in herself.
There's no boy.
There's no boy telling me "If I was pretty or more popular things could of worked out".
There's no one telling me that this is what's best for me.
Instead - I'm telling myself.
This is the difference.
This - this is for me.
It's my turn.
I'm finally running.
A dead sprint.
Towards happiness.